Untitled

The BAU had a running joke. Without you, the entire unit would collapse. Morgan was the first one to say it.

"You know, if you ever quit, I'm pretty sure Hotch would have to hire three people to replace you." You laughed as she handed him his coffee. "That is incredibly dramatic."

"It is incredibly accurate."

Garcia spun around in her chair. "He's right. You are the mother of this entire emotionally damaged family."

"I am not the mother of the team." JJ raised an eyebrow a small smile on her face.

"You reminded Morgan to eat lunch yesterday."

"He forgets."

"You brought Spencer a sweater because he forgot his coat."

"He gets cold."

"You fixed Rossi's printer."

"That printer was possessed."

Everyone laughed. And honestly? You didn't mind.

Taking care of people has always come naturally to you. It was easier to notice things about other people than yourself. The quiet moments when someone needed a little extra kindness. Or if they needed a coffee or even lunch. It was why Hotch had been so happy to have you join the BAU as their administrative assistant.

You weren’t an agent by any means, your plush body would never be field ready, though occasionally you would step outside Quantico if they expected the case to take longer than usual.

But you kept the team moving. You made sure reports were filed, schedules were organized, and everyone remembered they were human. Especially Spencer. Your eyes drifted toward his desk. Again. He was surrounded by files, books, and coffee cups. Too many coffee cups. Per usual, sometimes you wondered if he ever drank water. The smile faded from your face. The current case had been difficult. Everyone felt it. But Spencer carried cases differently. He carried every victim. Every detail. Every statistic. Every unanswered question. And lately, he had been drowning in it all.

"Spencer?" You said softly as he looked up.

"Yeah?"

"You know you can sleep, right?" A small smile tugged at his lips.

"That's actually a myth. The human body can survive longer periods of sleep deprivation than most people assume." You stared at him.

"That was not the answer I was looking for." His smile grew slightly. But it disappeared as quickly as it grew on his face.

---

Two days later, the bullpen was quiet. The kind of quiet that happened when everyone was exhausted. Spencer sat at his desk, staring at crime scene photos. You watched him from across the room. You knew that look. The one where he was physically there but mentally somewhere else. You quietly grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and walked over making sure to not interrupt anyone.

"Hey, Spencer." No response. You sighed softly as you placed the coffee beside him.

"I brought you another cup."

"Thanks."

His voice was distracted. You hesitated before asking another at this point routine question.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I'm fine." You sighed softly. He always said that exact answer when it was more than obvious he wasn’t.

"Spencer." He looked up, eyebags evident from his lack of sleep.

"Are you okay?"

The question should have been gentle. It was. But Spencer was tired, angry, frustrated, and hurting.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

The sharpness in his voice caught her off guard. You blinked slowly as confusion set in. Spencer never once spoke you to with any hint of sharpness in voice.

"I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine."

"Spencer—"

"I said I'm fine." The words came out louder than he intended. The entire bullpen went still. The smallest reaction. Most wouldn’t have noticed it, but Spencer noticed everything you did even if you didn’t realize it yet. The way your shoulders immediately curled inward. The way your face changed from concern to embarrassment as your cheeks burned a deep red.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. His heart sank.

Before he could even say your name you were already turning away.

"Sorry for bothering you."

You picked up the unfinished files on his desk and hurried towards your desk. And Spencer Reid, who could read a room better than almost anyone, suddenly hated that he had made her feel like she didn't belong in it.

Morgan waited exactly five seconds.

"What was that?"

Spencer stared at his desk. "I don't know."

Hotch looked at him from across the bullpen.

"Spencer." Spencer looked up. Hotch's expression wasn't angry, just upset which was worse. "She was trying to help you."

"I know."

"Then apologize." Spencer swallowed.

"I will."

Morgan crossed his arms. "You better."

---

The rest of the case was a blur. They caught the unsub. The victim was safe, traumatized but safe at least. Everyone went home. Everyone except Spencer. Because he couldn't stop thinking about you. You weren’t angry, which made his heart lurch even more, you were distant still polite and kind, but you kept it professional.

"Your paperwork is on your desk, Dr. Reid." You had reverted to calling him Dr.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." And then you walked away. No coffee. No jokes. No little conversations. Not even a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Nothing. He hadn't realized how much space you occupied in his life until that space was empty. He hadn’t realized how much he yearned for your attention, until you didn’t even gaze at him for more than 5 seconds.

---

The flower shop was a strange place for Spencer Reid to be. The florist looked amused at his flustered state. "Someone special?"

Spencer looked down at the flowers and back at her.

"Dahlias. Red" Was all he said. The florist smiled widely.

"Favorite flower?"

"Yes."

"Yours?”

"No."

"Hers.”

The florist raised an eyebrow. "You remembered?"

Spencer looked confused like she offended him just by asking.

"Of course I do." Because he did remember. He remembered the exact day you joined the BAU. You had been nervous. Fiddling with your hands trying to blend into the background. Garcia had asked everyone their favorite things as an excuse to welcome you. When someone asked about flowers, you had smiled so widely he felt like he had finally experienced the sun.

"Red Dahlias."

"Why?" You shrugged at the question.

“They’re beautiful and they represent passion.”

Spencer remembered thinking that the way you spoke about things you made him smile, and he wanted to be one of those things on your list.

---

You were still at your desk when he returned. You looked up surprised to see him back at the office so soon.

"Spencer?" He held out the flowers, almost dropping them as he held eye contact with you.

"I owe you an apology." Your eyes dropped to the bouquet.

"Dahlias?" He nodded. "You said they were your favorite."

Your expression softened immediately.

"That was almost a year ago."

"I have an eidetic memory. I remember things." A small smile appeared.

"I know you do." And somehow that hurt more. Because you knew him. You had grown to know him better than almost everyone on the team.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you." Your smile faded slightly.

"You were stressed."

"That doesn't excuse it." He stepped closer.

"You were trying to help me. You always try to help everyone." You looked down.

"Someone has to." Spencer frowned.

"No." The word was quiet.

"Someone should help you too." That made you look up.

And for a moment, Spencer saw something behind your eyes. Something you tried very hard to hide. "I missed you." The confession slipped out before he could stop it.

"What?" You said almost inaudibly.

"When you stopped talking to me, I realized how much I noticed." His voice softened. "I missed your coffee in the morning."

A tiny smile. "I missed you reminding me to eat."

Another. "I missed you asking if I was okay." Silence.

Then "I missed you." Your eyes became glassy at his small confession.

"I missed you too." Relief crossed his face. Then you laughed softly. "I think I missed you more than I should have." Spencer tilted his head sideways like a confused puppy.

"What does that mean?" You looked down at the bouquet biting your bottom lip. And he immediately knew. Something was wrong.

He said your name softly, as if he spoke louder you might run.

You shook her head quickly. "It's stupid."

"If it's bothering you then it isn't." You took a small breath.

"I just never thought someone like you would actually like someone like me." Spencer went still.

"What does that mean?"

You looked embarrassed now, nervously biting your lip and red tinted cheeks.

"Spencer."

"No, I mean it." His brow furrowed in further confusion.

"I don't understand."

"Look at me." You said softly as you looked down at your tummy, and thighs that expanded on the seat.

"I am."

"Exactly." And then Spencer suddenly understood. Not completely because he had never seen you the way you say yourself. But enough to speak back up. He said your name softly but this time he said it lovingly too. You looked up.

"I don't understand why that matters."

A sad laugh escaped you lips as you shook your head.

"Because it does."

He stepped closer.

"Why?" You didnt have an answer to his question, but he did.

"You're kind." A step closer.

"You're funny." Another.

"You're intelligent." Another.

"You remember everyone's coffee orders." You laughed through the tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

"That is your argument?"

"It's a very good argument." Then he softened.

"You're beautiful." Your breath caught.

Spencer looked almost confused that you needed convincing.

"I thought that part was obvious."

For once, you didn't have a response to his sarcasm. And maybe that was what you loved most about him. Spencer didn't see you as a before picture, or a size, or something that needed changing.

He saw you. The woman who tried to keep everyone together.

The woman who remembered they were also people. The woman who made the BAU feel like home. Slowly, he reached for your hand. Giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t of course not. "I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what?" He smiled nervously.

"That I like you." Your smile grew.

"I was hoping that was where this was going." A quiet laugh escaped him. Then he looked down.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." You said giggling softly.

The kiss was gentle. Careful. Like he was holding something precious. When he pulled away, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

"How long?" He thought about it.

"Approximately eight months two weeks and three days." You laughed at his words.

"Of course you counted."

"I count everything."

"I know."

The cafe was quiet for once.

A few customers sat scattered throughout the room, the low murmur of conversation blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. It was the kind of atmosphere you liked, busy enough to feel alive, but not so crowded that you couldn't think.

You sat by the window, sketchbook open in front of you. Art has always been easier than talking. People made sense on paper. On paper they couldn’t say anything, or do anything.

The man sitting three tables away had become your latest subject. Not intentionally. At least, that's what you told yourself. He was consistent, same time every morning, same coffee order and always sat in the same seat that was tucked away in the corner of the cafe, and mostly the same outfits all of which made him look like a professor. The only difference is every time you looked, there was a different book in his hands.

Today was no exception. He was quite handsome, sharp features and a beautiful head of curly hair. You absentmindedly started sketching the curve of his posture as he leaned over the pages. You leaned forward until your stomach lightly brushed the edge of the table, too focused on the sketch to care.

You hadn’t realized you were staring hard as you drew him, it was coming together slowly as the charcoal smudged on your hand.

Then he looked up, directly at you. Your pencil froze as did your brain. For a moment neither of you moved. You felt like leaving the cafe and walking into the traffic of the early city. You wanted to run even more as he closed his book and stood up. You wanted to sink beneath the table, maybe if you were small enough he’d keep walking past you.

Oh no.

You immediately looked back down at your sketchbook as footsteps approached your table, maybe if you pretended to not notice him he would leave.

"Hi." The voice was softer than you expected. You looked up nervously expecting some sort of angry man yet up close, he looked younger, kind eyes and a nervous expression that seemed oddly out of place.

"Heeey," you said anxiously drawing out your reply.

His gaze dropped to your sketchbook then to you then back to the sketchbook.

"I think that's me." You looked down and back up at him, your lips forming a straight line. It was definitely him.

"Maybe." You softly said as you looked everywhere but him. His lips twitched.

"Statistically speaking, it's very likely me."

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. A small blush crept onto your chubby cheeks. The stranger blinked, as if surprised he had managed to make someone laugh.

"I'm Spencer by the way." he said as he glanced down at the sketch again.

You smiled awkwardly as you gave him your name. You sheepishly turn the sketchbook his way. “I um I hope I didn’t creep you out…Spencer.”

He studies the sketch for a moment before looking back to where he was sitting before. “Not at all, you drew me almost exactly as I was sitting, though I was sitting straighter by 5 degrees.”

Your mouth fell open a little at his words, a nervous chuckle at his words once you realized he was being serious. You look back to the same corner he was sitting in before looking back up to him.

“Well sit back down and I’ll try again” You said, relaxing a little back into your seat as you grabbed the sketchbook and turning it to face you again, flipping to a clean page. He muttered a soft okay as he pulled out the seat across from you sitting down. Your brain paused for a moment as he agreed as if it was the most normal thing to be asked. You watched him for a moment as he seemed unsure of what to do with himself.

You watched as he changed his position multiple times, from nervously fidgeting with his hands to slouching, finally he seemed to settle on leaning against the back of the chair holding his book.

You stifle a laugh before speaking. “You can just um sit normally, just read your book and I'll sketch you, nothing to be too nervous about.”

"You know, statistically speaking, most people become self-conscious when they know they're being observed."

"Is that your way of telling me you're self-conscious?"

"It's my way of telling you that I'm suddenly very aware of what I'm doing with my body."

“Just read the book.” You finally settled on as you started sketching. As you looked back and forth from the paper to him, one thought nestled into your mind.

He was a very handsome man.

You only get maybe halfway through adding detailing and shading onto the sketch when you glance up to see him staring straight at you, book closed and set on the table in front of him. You stop sketching and wait a moment before speaking. “Do- did you need a break or something?”

“Im done reading this book.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before he speaks again, noticing your confusion. “I can read 20,000 words per minute, though I slowed down as to give you more time, though now I realise I should have just started re-reading some of the pages.” You open your mouth to respond but quickly close it unsure of what to say to him. As you take a breath to actually speak your phone buzzes, the screen lits up with the call i.d of your boss.

You politely excuse yourself as you take the call, Spencer on the other had fought the urge to look through your sketchbook. And he lost. He looked over to your plush body huddling in the corner he sits near, smoothing out your top out of habit, nervous was the first word that came to mind as he watched you for a moment before looking back at the book laid out in front of him, he flipped through it quickly. He recognized some of the people in charcoal, other customers, two of the bartenders and him. There were exactly 4 sketches of him and the obvious unfinished one.

A small smile crept onto his face as he flipped back and forth through his sketches. Spencer has been a lot of things in his life, but one could say he’s never felt so confused and seen at the same time. In the 4 sketches he’s reading, you could say he looks the same in them, but he knows he doesn’t. In one of them you can see the focus in his eyes, in another he’s slouched more he most likely didn't sleep well the night before.

You came back with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry Spencer but it seems my boss needs me.” You quickly rip off a piece of a blank page out of the book and scribble down your phone number and slid it to him.

“I um have to go but here’s my number, just in case you ever feel like zooming through a book while being stared at.” You close your book, and put it into a black messenger bag along with your charcoal pencils and the eraser.

You close your bag, still half apologizing as you gather yourself. Spencer looks down at the slip of paper in front of him before picking it up, he looks at it almost like he’s observing it. You loosen the straps on the bag as you pull it over your shoulders adjusting it on the large cardigan you wore.

“I… understand,” he says finally, as if that explains everything and somehow nothing at all. You hesitate at the edge of leaving. “Understand what?”

Spencer glances up at you and for the first time in the last ten minutes it feels like he’s actually looking at you.

“That you were observing me,” he says. “And that I didn’t mind it.”

He pauses before adding on “I think I liked it.” That makes you stop for half a second longer than you should.

“I’ve never been drawn before,” he adds “Not like that.”

“Text me when you’re free,” he says, a little too quickly, like he’s correcting himself mid-thought. “If you want to.”

“I’d be interested in seeing… how the rest of it looks.”